After taking a shower, I saw how much Antonio and the exorcism wrecked my body. I had a cut near my hairline stretched mid-way on my forehead and another underneath my chin. My neck was a reddish and yellowish color. Then there were the open flesh wounds on my arms and right thigh, swelling and throbbing. I managed to wrap them with some of the leftover gauze from last time.

Every day it gets a little harder to live and I don't know how long it will last but I'm trying not to give up. I'm trying.

I took a sharp breath and pulled the white cardigan over my body as droplets fell from the ends of my hair. I walked out of my room and headed straight to the bathroom. I know I should probably wait for Dilara to get back but I needed something to ease the pain everywhere. I had a couple of pills in the bathroom cabinets.

I opened the door and I stifled a gasp.

Grimm is in the bathroom, shirtless. His back muscles are taut and flexed, his arms are stretched out as he grips the sides of the sink. The shirt sits on the counter. His head hangs low with his wet disheveled hair callously shielding his eyes. But what surprises me is the stitching on his back.

Separate stitches are lined on his shoulder blades. His ghostly skin is pierced and entwined by a golden thread, each loop is knotted with a radiance but the more I stare the thread looks like a chain. I should not be looking. I should not—

"It's not polite to stare," Grimm uttered. "But for you, I'll make an exception."

I turned my head away and brought my hand over my eyes. "I didn't know you were in here, I only came to get some ibuprofen." I swallowed.

He goes quiet. My mind is racing about whether I should leave or stay but it seems my feet have grown a mind of their own and decided to plant themselves here. Why didn't I knock?

"Look at me." He whispers.

Maybe I misheard him. I keep covering my eyes from him, I think I should probably leave. I drag my feet backward. "Look at me." He says it clearer this time. I halted my steps, I feel as if I'm being tested. I don't move my hand.

"Please," His voice was full of need. "Look at me."

I slowly peek through my fingers, finding those starry eyes looking at me. His brows pinched together in desperation. He takes one quick stride and towers over my body, I take a step back and hit the door. My heart races pathetically. Grimm gently takes my hand and slowly brings it down from my eyes.

I keep my gaze on his eyes, I can't allow myself to wander.

"Why do you always hide from me? Why?" His eyes shift back and forth, searching. I can't breathe properly, he is too close. Dangerously close. "Does my back disgust you?"

I frowned, "No."

I didn't find him disgusting at all. I think—I think Grimm is beautifully rotten. I like his face now but I also like it when his veins have been corrupted by the blackened pulse. He knew this himself, he was aware of his looks.

Grimm took a step back, lifting his chin as his eyes locked with mine. "I want you to touch me." My eyes widened. What? "My back. I want you to touch my back." He clarifies.

Before I could say anything he turned around and I'm facing his rigid muscles with the glowing thread laced through his shoulder blades. I shouldn't touch him, I shouldn't touch him at all. But my hands ached and reached for him like a distraught temptation. I was too captivated by the golden threads in his perfectly smooth skin. It should've tainted him but it didn't.

"Touch me, raven," Grimm said hoarsely.

With my index finger, I lightly pressed it on his lower back and skimmed it upwards. I watched his muscles flexing beneath my touch as I drew closer, he shudders. My finger grazed the thread—I gasped—he truly had a thread laced into his skin. This is where his wings once were, I imagined them. 

A thousand black feathers, spiked and trailing down from here to the end of his foot. Displaying an ethereal look. My finger followed the zig-zag pattern of the golden thread and felt the secured knots as I bumped into them. I ran another finger on his other shoulder blade, following the identical pattern. His skin and tissue are pulled tightly. Sealed. Why did he still have this stitching?

Scars were supposed to be ugly but Grimm's scars were sowed like constellations. He was still beautiful. But I knew he hated it because there was only one person who could've done this to him. Why was she punishing him?

"She didn't fix me, right away." My finger pauses at the tip of the thread. He went on, "When they severed my wings all that came out was darkness and I couldn't control it. The darkness imploded and exploded, it repeatedly destroyed my body but I also—" he swallows, "I caused an accidental disaster which I needed to be punished for, so I had to be in pain for four years before she decided to end it."

How could she do this to him? Fate made him, this is her son. Why on earth would she want to punish him for something that wasn't his fault? Why did he have to suffer for something he couldn't control?

I shook my head. "For how long have you been this way?"

"I don't know. I've been without my wings for so long, I barely remember what the wind used to mean to me." He sounds lost and distant.

So, I made a silent promise. I might not be able to have Grimm in the way that I want but I can give him what he wants and I'm going to do it. I'm going to give him his wings back and he'll feel the wind as he once did.

"What about the person who severed your wings? Were they punished?" I asked.

His shoulders tensed. I dropped my hand.

Grimm replies, "Yes and they suffered much worse than I did." Well, that's good but why did he sound unhappy, almost unsatisfied? My brows pinch together, "Why did they cut your wings?" And I regret asking the question as soon as it leaves my mouth.

Grimm turns around slowly like a dreadful anticipation brewing in the pit of your stomach. His deep pitless eyes meet mine, "Because I killed someone they loved and I didn't give her back." His mouth twitches. "And we both know how I feel when someone tries to take away something from me." He was talking about a soul, he had to be. Someone must've wanted him to bring back someone they lost. But Death doesn't bring the dead back to life, he takes them as selfishly as he was made to be.

His whole demeanor changes, his lips curve maliciously and his eyes gleam with mischief. Oh no. He takes a step forward and places his hands on the sides of the door. I'm trapped. Grimm's few wet strands of hair faintly touch my forehead. He cranes his neck sideways, brushing his nose against mine.

My chest rises up and down. The air feels tight and heavy. I lift my head away, trying to slow my breathing.

But Grimm's cool breath fans my neck. "I only know how to take away things that don't belong to me." I felt a mixture of warmth and coldness spreading all over my body. "And once they become mine, I have no intention of surrendering." He is too close again. I turned my head, being able to see from the mirror our pressed bodies.

I could see everything. His smooth sculpted body is shaped into perfection. From his broad shoulders down to the craving of his muscles to his lean frame. If I looked any lower, I might do something I'll regret. He dips his head lower, his nose skims the outline of my collarbone and from what I can see, it looks as if he were buried between my neck and shoulder. I was close to digging my nails into his hair, pressing them into his scalp.

My imagination was running wild. I buried my feelings for him. I can't let this happen. I can't. 

"Stop," I said out of breath. He pauses. "I know what you're doing and I don't want to play your game." This is what it was to him, a game.

Grimm moves his head from my neck as he settles his gaze on me. "I'm not playing a game. I don't like them. Why would you think I'm playing a game?"

Heat crawls up my neck. "The flirting, the nickname, and the way you look at me, it feels like you're trying to win something from me. It feels like a game." I said harshly.

His lips curve into a taunting smile. "So you've noticed and are finally admitting that you see me." I'm more confused than I've been in my entire life. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

"All I ever wanted since I met you is your attention. You're constantly hiding from me, it drives me mad. You always look away or when you're looking at me, you look bored or irritated. But sometimes you smile and I make you smile but you hide them from me and I feel as if you're stealing something I earned. Genuinely earned." 

He presses his forehead against mine, "Why do you hide? Why do you do this to me? Even now, I'm in misery because of your presence. I beg you to touch me and you barely do." He breathes, "But either way, under your faintest touch I'll succumb and crumble beneath it." I sucked in my breath, unable to say anything, I didn't know what to say.

His hand comes down my waist and pulls me towards him, my hands touch his bare chest. With his other hand, Grimm's fingers seep through my hair and tilts my chin up. My hands are cold and my heart may leap out of its chest. His thumb runs across the bottom of my lip, "This isn't a game, raven. This is better than a game. It's a story and stories, they're remembered and live forever."

But stories had endings.

"How do you think this story will end?" I whisper.

His eyes linger on my lips. "The ending doesn't matter. What matters is this, right here, right now." I betray myself and shift my gaze down his lips. "This won't end well," I say one last attempt to convince him and myself.

Grimm leans his head, one hand gently caressing the back of my neck and the other holding my waist tightly. His body pressed against mine, his lips brushing my neck and trailing under my jaw.

He stops at my lips, "Then let's ruin each other." And he is going to kiss me, he is going to kiss—

"Nora!" Dilara shouts. "We're back. Where are you?"

The spell is broken and I shove Grimm away. He throws his head back as his jaw clenches.

"Stay."

I don't answer him as I open the door, see Dilara with a black bag in her arm. Her eyes looked over my shoulder, she shifted her attention back to me raising both of her brows. I grab her arm and pull her hand, I took her straight into my room and slammed the door behind us.

"I want to know everything," This is the first thing that comes out of Dilara's mouth.

I soothe the temples of my forehead, "It's not what you think." She snorts in response. "I'll explain everything to you, and you'll see, but first I need you to go back out there and kick them out."

She gives me a deadpan look. "Tell them, I'm not feeling well. I'm tired or something." I wave it off. She sighs as she shoves the black bag into my arms and goes out the door.

I scoot closer to the door and listen to Dilara. "Yeah, guys, Nora needs some rest...you understand, right?" Footsteps become distant, and not a second later, the door closes. I walk back toward my bed and fall onto it. I'm already breathing much better.

Dilara opens the door. "He looked a little upset. Did you break his heart?"

I laugh. I laugh. I laugh. I look over to Dilara, who looks a little worried. "Do you believe Gods are real?" I tell her how I met the God of Death and all else that came before and after I met him. I tell her everything, and I don't leave a single thing out.

By the time I'm finished, Dilara brings out her spell books and sets a dozen candles in my room. She lights them by murmuring an incantation. We search through the books about bringing something back. We go through each ritual and translate spells from different languages, but we don't stop searching for a solution.

I don't sleep tonight nor will I sleep for a while.